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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23387995">A Closer Understanding of the Past: Catalyst</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kupfermaske/pseuds/kupfermaske'>kupfermaske</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nibellian Anecdotes [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ori and the Blind Forest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:34:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,339</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23387995</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kupfermaske/pseuds/kupfermaske</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Part one of three of a series involving Naru and her father.</p><p>They discuss things way before the events of the first game.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nibellian Anecdotes [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682242</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Part One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Teaching lessons occasionally require the employment of certain skills.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>You know, words are like ingredients. </em>
</p><p>   It was well into sundown when he said that. The evening sky (from what few glimpses they could snatch whilst down here) was ablaze with its usual gradients of reds, of oranges, of yellows; bulbous cumulus and fleecy vapour tufts alike adorning the canopy in all its warm-coloured splendour. But with all its glory, it was merely the last hurrah before the first curtains of cool night drew and consequently fell upon the forest of Nibel.</p><p>   Two certain Nibellians, however, did not fret that they were missing out on this airborne procession. For one, they had no need to worry. The future would offer them many chances to see it in full. Someday.</p><p>   And two, deep within their burrow hidden somewhere beneath the forest floors, they shared the sentiments with the sun-graced clouds above: a desire to accomplish something before day’s end. They were also hungry, as had the words at the beginning might have suggested the setting.</p><p>   "What do you mean?" Naru asked; Father's anecdotal statement having stolen her (easily piqued) interest.</p><p>   He stood before their cauldron; a darkened-over-time, potbellied iron thing (something Naru secretly likened him to), and leisurely stirred its boiling contents with a long, wooden spoon. A relaxed posture. A pair of focused eyes. They reflected the flickering fork-tongues of flame that licked up the stone vessel's round-bottomed sides as he carefully saw through the process.</p><p>   He began with a question. "For example, you like kurimu root, right?"</p><p>   Naru's response was three decisive nods.</p><p>   "Why’s that?" he asked.</p><p>   "Well, they taste good. They're soft; melts easily when used in any dish; makes it super smooth. Like cream! Speaking of…"</p><p>   Several of the said roots (peeled <em> then </em> washed, as she learned, not wanting to make the same mistake twice, but that's another story) were then held out to him by means of a small platter. He thanked her, picked some and dropped them. They watched -- Naru standing on a stone, Father on the ground; him standing across the cauldron from her -- as the crooked cream-coloured sticks gave up their solid forms and disseminated into the swirling mixture. They transformed what had been an oil-and-water-and-bits-and-bobs broth, into a thicker, more substantial dish that bubbled softly. </p><p>   'Therapeutic' would have been insufficient in describing its sound; its smell. It was the epitome of warmhearted homeliness.</p><p>   Naru licked her lips and giggled, wide-eyed with the latest development as her black-and-twilight-purple form jittered with excitement whilst on her stone platform. In turn this pure, simple happiness amused her father, demonstrated by a hearty baritone chuckle slipping through closed but smiling lips. He looked down upon the cauldron once more, continuing to stir without let-up.</p><p>   Then he said: “Now, please add some aceta berries.”</p><p>   Naru raised an eyebrow upon hearing his request. She looked up from the soup to look across the cauldron towards him, then allowed quizzicality to possess her features without much hindrance. Her confusion was consequently obvious, like the paints splashed and stricken onto the stone that made their bedside mural.</p><p>   "...Why?" she asked.</p><p>   Father replied with nonchalance. "For dinner."</p><p>   "But they're really bitter," protested Naru, her brow furrowing further if it hadn't already. "The soup'll taste awful! Didn't you say they're only good for medicine, anyway?"</p><p>   Naru’s father gave a brief hum accompanied with several slight nods, the four curling horns crowning his head unanimously bobbing along with both motions. His bemused smile from earlier detracted a bit, turning into an ever-patient, upward crescent on his features. A rather thoughtful, careful look, as if he were examining a sickened plant with growing confidence on just how to cure all its ails.</p><p>   Naru, meanwhile, returned to the past few moments with her mind’s eye. Doing so only doubled her perplexity, bringing upon herself more confusion than did the initial statement. <em> What was he talking about? </em> she thought. But unbeknownst to her, Father was about to arrive at the point; who was still stirring away at the cauldron. It was the kind of soup that needed steady motion applied to it, otherwise the end product would not attain its best form and the cauldron would be <em> very </em>difficult to clean afterwards. Both weren’t quite sure why it happened like that, but they nonetheless had surely learned from it; plus, they probably didn’t want to perform multiple experiments on figuring just why.</p><p>  Eyes still directed towards their soon-to-be dinner, Father posited a theory. "So you're saying you don't like aceta berries because they're bitter and they'll ruin the food.”</p><p>   "Uh, yeah," was the confirming matter-of-factly response.</p><p>   Father then looked up. Decisively. Purposefully. He had firmly locked eyes with her in but a flash.</p><p>   "So those berries are like hurtful words, aren’t they? They leave a bad taste in your mouth when you hear them?” he asked.</p><p>   Had it been a trick of the hearth that gave a certain glint in his eyes as he asked those questions? Whatever the answer, any vestige that remained of a smile completely vanished from his face; his lips instead forming a very straight, very barren line that was as taut as the suspension ropes that held up platforms which assisted them in navigating the burrows with its occasional sheer/thorny/crystal-spiked walls.</p><p>   The serious way in which he spoke and the words that he had chosen told Naru most things that she needed to know. The one thing that Naru could <em> not </em> discern, however, was what her father felt. </p><p>   She couldn’t pierce; couldn’t divine the emotions hidden underneath his stoic exterior. All she had sensed, without as much of an ounce of a readable expression on his face, was how he gave his response with such a well-delivered force. Being the child she was, Naru simply attributed it to a kind of anger. Of what kind, she had no idea. The responses that followed were understandable ones. </p><p>   She first averted her gaze. Her body next, small in comparison to that of her father, unconsciously tensed up: biceps locked to her sides, legs and feet together as if wrapped in a tight cocoon (except with a wooden platter sticking out of it). And as she stood on an elevated level, she grew more conscious of this fact.</p><p>   She felt exposed; vulnerable. Her frightened mind raced as she racked her head with questions. What did he want to hear? What did she need to say? What <em> had </em> she said, anyway? She had said <em> something </em> ...but <em> what </em>? What had she said that offended Father so? </p><p>   “...What did I say?” was all she could verbalize.</p><p>   The confidence that had been in her voice was now absent. Where had it gone?</p><p>   Father didn't answer right away. He continued looking at Naru (or at least Naru thought he was; she couldn’t tell) as the ladle cut through the thick substance with ease, Father maintaining its unceasing regimen of circular strokes that left trails on the viscous surface that were as short-lived as the bubbles that appeared on top. Naru then heard him blow a huffy sigh through his nostrils before explaining.</p><p>   "Getting those roots wasn’t easy, Naru. I had to dig for quite a bit. You know this. But can you imagine how you'd feel if you did the same? You spend hours digging, digging, digging deep into the soil because you want to give me a gift? And then, when you come back, I say to you: "Ew...you stink?"</p><p>   <em> So that was it? </em> Naru thought, if not with a hint of childish insolence in her inward tone.</p><p>   "What do you think, Naru?” Father pressed. “How would <em> you </em>have felt?”</p><p>   An emphasis on the last 'you.'</p><p>   Naru shrank before him, her face scrunching up as she listened to his convictive response. The corners of her lips pulled earthward into the formation of a frown; especially with the last question, which jabbed at her. Her pale oval of a visage continued to show no colour, other than its usual shade of stark-whiteness. But the warmth of shame burned bright in her body, along with a nauseatingly weighty chill descending upon her shoulders made literal by the girl-creature (unknowingly) hunching atop her stony dais, who stood at her father’s height across the cauldron. She trembled, suddenly feeling cold despite the fire being close to her.</p><p>   An awkward pause rolled in. Father continued stirring the soup. Slowly. Deliberately. Both heard the scraping of wooden spoon against stone bottom as it circulated the cauldron, making its rounds and revolutions. Naru continued looking into the platter and the roots that remained on it in stiffening silence, despite its lack of solace. This carried on for a while.</p><p>   Father spoke again. “I know you’d meant it as a joke, Naru.”</p><p>   His voice was noticeably much softer. He continued, stumbling: “I-I'm not saying jokes themselves are bad, but--"</p><p>   Then he stopped himself.</p><p>   As if he prevented himself. </p><p>   But from what?</p><p>   Another awkward pause. Dinner continued to bubble; fire continued to burn; the spoon continued to stir. One of the logs, having reached its end, gave out a soft <em> shff </em> as it crumbled into ashy fragments. Its subdued collapse also promptly sent grey-black, red-black butterfly-flecks drifting aloft in its wake. They flittered and swirled through the air. They went on scattering into someplace unknown. </p><p>   “Th-think-- “</p><p>   He stopped again. Naru heard him take in a deep breath. Heard another sigh.</p><p>   He tried again. "Think of it like this, Naru," he said, the words coming together correctly, but laced with a faint pleading. A subtle desperation. "Imagine...imagine tossing things at random into the cauldron. What are the chances that it'll be a good soup?" He said, almost too quickly.</p><p>   "...Pretty low,” forced Naru, after a beat had passed. She had to decipher what he just said.</p><p>   Father picked up where she stopped in tandem. Again, almost too quickly. "Right. And chances are, you might add something bitter, something poisonous, something rotten, something poisonous <em> and </em>rotten, even. Without knowing. B-but point -- "</p><p>   He stopped himself yet again.</p><p>   And he spoke again, but this time a resigned tone haunted his voice. "Point is: anyone who eats it will get hurt," he said forcedly; reluctantly. "Even you’ll get hurt if you eat it.”</p><p>   Silence.</p><p>   “What do you think of that?” he coughed.</p><p>   Again, silence. Naru greeted the lesson’s end with silence.</p><p>   She felt no inclination to talk, to say the least; the very notion within her having been well smothered to near-death. She did understand what he was trying to say, yes, but it hadn’t been impressed upon her well. Yet, any further prodding from Father could extinguish the last wisp of a chance she had of developing another appetite for talking during the rest of the evening. </p><p>   One wished to speak. The other didn't. Both wanted an end to this. Where did those three factors leave them?</p><p>   In a conundrum; a conversational standoff, namely the strained lull that suddenly (and seemingly) came from nowhere. It, with its paradoxical composition, asserted itself betwixt them as a formidable wedge; becoming something -- in itself -- untreatable inasmuch as it would have been uncomfortable to leave it untreated. To pull; or not pull, the thorn out.</p><p>   Both parent and child seemed to intuitively recognise where they were. It was something they knew. It just had not been said. This realization, consequently, birthed a shared idea (in secret) in their subconscious minds: the option to become complacent. To simply leave it be.</p><p>   It turned into a growing temptation. At least for Naru. The choice to continue staying in the hole of silence they dug themselves into for the evening, drop the subject, awkwardly climb out, bury it; then pretend it never happened the next day; was very appealing to her. It had become her inclination. Her choice.</p><p>   But again, where would that leave them? </p><p>   Somewhere not any better, they intuitively knew, somewhere in the back of their minds.</p><p>   But had they any other choice?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Part Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>It seemed like they had no other choice than to bear through the awkward silence for the rest of the evening.  </em>
</p><p>   Was that to be the case? Not if Nibel had anything to say about it. </p><p>   For whether they had known it or not, the forest had been voicing its opinions from the very beginning.</p><p>   It was evident even now. Where Naru came to breath's zenith, that liminal second of a silence where inhales transitioned into exhales and vice versa; the flaming chatter of burning wood permeated the space. It bounced against the burrow's walls in increasingly deafening reverberations, and where her father arrived, too; the passing hollow breezes that flowed through the underground rooms; the very winds that helped them breathe, morphed into an incessant, constant drone that ate away at his ears.</p><p>   It wasn't quite enough. Both parent and child remained as they were, wading in their growing discomfort as the world continued turning; the unseen machinations that made Nibel <em> Nibel </em> working, as the pair made no effort to break free from the dilemma that held them back from the progress they so needed.</p><p>   One last push would have done it.</p><p>   And it came to be that with a resounding <em> Snap! </em>, another burning log, this one opting to go in any other way than quiet, loudly burst beneath the cauldron. It spewed a brilliant spray of sparks that flew out in several directions, scattering red-orange pinpoints of embering light that shone out from the dirt floor like luminescent gems. But as quickly as they had come to life their colours soon faded; the darkness swallowing them as they melded into its fold.</p><p>   That was very much heard. Doing otherwise would have been impossible. </p><p>   But whether they would listen was another matter.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>   <em> The prolonged nature in their hiatus was suddenly; decisively; more unbearable than having to continue in shared but lonely, wordless drudgery. </em> </p><p>   The desire to continue was rekindled within both of them like a plunging thunderclap in which its accompanied lightning bolt struck a tree, setting it ablaze. It jolted them awake; its crisp yet rumbling resonance resurrecting their senses and beckoning forth their attention with great urgency. It also stirred a simple but most compelling emotion in their hearts: a desire to seek comfort in each other.</p><p>   As the last echoes receded, effects began to germinate. </p><p>   Naru responded favourably. She had, in fact, flinched, the sound cutting through the silence like a heated knife slicing a kurimu root. And while her eyes remained fixed upon the platter she was holding...</p><p>   She also had begun to strain her ears. </p><p>   So she listened. She stood. Waited. Perhaps not watching; but observing. Like one of her statues. Statues. Statue-making. Sculpting, that is. Sculpting. One of her favourite pursuits asides from painting --</p><p>   She (thankfully) heard a sigh before levitous thoughts carried her too far along.</p><p>   Then she heard a shuffling. </p><p>   Then a shifting. </p><p>   Then a <em> knock-tumbling </em> as she saw from the corner of her vision a log being tossed beneath the cauldron. </p><p>   The fire came quickly: a deft <em> whoosh </em>escaping from below as the flames rushed over to claim it. Naru looked up a bit, mustering a little courage to do so on the way, just as the flickering tongues licked up a good majority, the log getting devoured with within moments. A rather hungry fire, Naru allowed herself to think.</p><p>   And like a creature recently awoken from deep, wintry hibernation, Father's voice emerged like that of a being slowly appearing from its den as it took its first steps into spring; a season of change and opportunities. His tone was tentative and humbled, but he was ready to see things through.</p><p>   To fulfil his duty; as a father.</p><p>   “What I'm trying to say, Naru, is that saying words without thinking is a bad practice. For even if you don’t mean to, someone can be left hurt. And after everyone is hurt and has been driven away, and you’re all that remains in your loneliness...in the end, you’ve only hurt yourself.”</p><p>   Naru, finally, looked up fully, just in time to see her father look down. </p><p>   The ladle was still mixing their dinner.</p><p>   “So long as you remember and understand what I’ve said, that’s fine by me.”</p><p>   And with that he spoke no further, returning to his stirring, leaving Naru to her thoughts and, most of all, rather underwhelmed.</p><p>   It was difficult to explain. A part of Naru had wished, at some point during the conversation, that this had ended sooner. She wished that, instead of going through all...<em> that </em>, that Father had forthrightly made clear to her the error she had committed, the gravity of the error impressed upon her, that she would then apologize for then said error, and that that would have been it.</p><p>   But after receiving the ending she so wanted...she didn't know why but Naru felt that he lacked something. Her father's face harboured an emotion she had never seen before; not anger, not sadness. Definitely not relief, nor triumph.</p><p>   There remained a hope, however.</p><p>   Another part of Naru, this one almost imperceptible, had agreed with him. She had found the lesson easy to remember and grasp. And because of that, Naru felt a small swell of accomplishment after doing something good, that is; learning something new and profound.</p><p>   And it was this small part that gave her the key to ending this true impasse. Naru got what she wanted, even if it had not been said outright. She got her ending, and Father himself, ironically, had been the one to offer it. But as he offered his concession like that; a reluctant resignation, she realized that this was not right. It only took her one look to confirm that he, too, was unsatisfied with how it went and how it ended.</p><p>   <em> What time is it? </em> Naru asked herself, the question’s origin unknown. </p><p>   She looked up and peered through one of the holes that somehow managed to make it down here. She just needed to find a particular angle. </p><p>   She tilted her head, craned her neck slightly, and…</p><p>   It was still sundown, but the first stages of twilight approached in the form of a lavender shade that, in just a while, would deepen into an orchid dusk.</p><p>   But it was still sundown. How had so little time passed? Naru asked in wonderment.</p><p>   Being the child she was, she didn't come up with these realizations with well-thought-out plans that aimed to remedy the situation. She had simply and rightly <em> felt </em> those realizations. That was the plain truth. So she likewise went forward and <em> did </em> what was simply right.</p><p>   Naru, the platter still in her hands, extended her arms and dropped the last few roots into the cauldron. She retracted the wooden plate after doing so and hugged it flat to her chest, still looking forward.</p><p>   Father noticed that. He looked up.  He kept stirring.</p><p>   And that certain <em> glint </em>was in his eyes again.</p><p>   So Naru, on her stone dais, took a deep breath and said: </p><p>   "I'm sorry I hurt you, dad. I'll be more careful next time."</p><p>   A pause, this one different from the ones before. This one held warm expectation.</p><p>   Through wispy, savoury steam that faintly blurred the corners and edges of her father's form; elegantly framing and leaving untouched his face for her to focus on, Naru could see a smile grow as he extended both arms, over the cauldron, to reach for his child. A loving; nurturing smile was what graced his features as he tenderly cupped her cheek, the other resting warmly; reassuringly, on her shoulder. Having left the ladle, its long handle stuck out of their soon-to-be dinner. </p><p>   The stirring had been enough.</p><p>   "So what's the opposite of saying things without thinking, then?" He asked encouragingly.</p><p>   Naru knew the answer. He knew she knew. But what better way to end it than with how it started?</p><p>   "Choosing the ingredients well," she said.</p><p>   Naru then received a doting tap to her nose; the memory commemorated by her father's smile becoming a slight grin as if to say: “That’s my girl.”</p><p>   “Come now,” he said. “Dinner will be great, I think.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kurimu = is how "cream" is pronounced in Japanese, and since Naru's (closest) language inspiration for her name was Japanese, the choice was made.</p><p>Aceta = short for acetaminophen a.k.a. paracetamol, a real medicine. Also I, the foolish child I was when I first took them, chewed them. Long story short they tasted awful.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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